


Overdrawn

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: Eerie Crests (Webcomic)
Genre: also i wouldnt call this angst but it's...Sad, for once in my life i have no idea what i wrote, idk it's grossly poetic is this what the inside of malek's head is like, kinda how malek sees dallas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10385631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: Malek thinks that Dallas is a work of art.No, Malek knows that Dallas is a work of art.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just...really love eerie crests.
> 
> Also, I wrote like half of this while listening to October by George Ogilvie, and y'all need to check it out because it's a marsolh song if I've ever heard one.

Malek thinks that Dallas a work of art. 

No, Malek knows that Dallas is a work of art. He sees it when they're together, has documented it all in his mind, an itemized list of why this boy with the sad smile and the sadder eyes is a masterpiece.

It starts with the flip of his hair. Cowlicks that always seem to appear in hair colored like a broken mood ring that only detects the chill of emotional neutrality.

The way his hair moves in the breeze like water crashes over the shore has always been Malek's first clue to the Something More of Dallas Margolin.

The second clue is the smattering of freckles. They weren't like the freckles that people would wax poetic about. They weren't constellations, they weren't solar systems, even. They were galaxies. Galaxies mixed with dark clumps of freckles and light scars from days gone by; galaxies that held onto the echoes of laughter by swirling around out of practice smile lines.

Dallas is a raging, undiscovered galaxy that keeps spinning and keeps moving and shifting and _being_ , yet no one pays attention. 

The next clue of hundreds is that blush that bleeds across his face forevermore. It rolls over his skin and Malek always simultaneously wonders if it'll ever end and wishes that it wouldn't.

If Malek is bold, sweeping lines and vibrantly pigmented paints then Dallas is thin, shaky lines and watercolors.

The thing about watercolors is that unless you've got a relatively steady hand and some patience the color bleeds uncontrollably. And sure, you can add more paint, but it never quite does what you'd invisioned in your head.

Dallas is like that, Malek thinks. His colors bleed, swarming around the hastily made borders before breaking free. The colors in his eyes bleed past the borders of his eyelids. That blush in his cheeks bleeds down and touches his lips before heading to his neck and collar bones. 

Malek learned a long time ago that your mental vision for something may not be the best version of that thing, so you shouldn't get too attached.

Another clue to Dallas' Something More is the curve of his mouth. His lips are like a secret, quiet but lingering. They drape across his face like curtains over a window. Maybe that's why they feel like a secret. The frozen cover to hundreds of moving parts.

Malek likes the way that they sometimes stumble, like the cogs behind them are working faster than they can form the words. He likes the way Dallas rolls his lips between his teeth when he's nervous. And only 30% of that liking is Malek wanting to kiss him. The other 70% is the familiarity that comes from seeing Dallas stuck in his own world, rolling his bottom lip before realizing Malek is watching. Sometimes Dallas'll smile if he catches Malek looking, release his lips from his teeth and let them twitch into something small. If Malek is lucky, he gets to watch as the other boy's cheeks start to gleam like rubies when Malek smiles back. Sometimes, Malek's heart will sigh, just a bit, in response.

There are so many other reasons Malek is sure of Dallas' artistic quality. He tried to write them down, tell Dallas how much he loved the way the other boy twisted his fingers like locked doors when he was nervous. He tried to draw something that captured the way that Dallas' colors seemed to be ever changing but stayed the same, the way they flashed like a glitching screen, but then he remembered he couldn't draw. He tried to sing it, to let the praises roll of his tongue, but they stopped in his throat, hovered behind his eyes, used his lips as a seesaw anytime he tried to, to….

So Malek keeps his truths close to him, by his heart, pounding through his mind, sometimes it creeps through his fingers when he's plucking at his guitar. Those melodies sound like the crashing of waves and the drip of seeping paint. No one ever hears them, though. 

He has pages upon pages of those songs, offerings that he'll never give. Odes in Technicolor to a boy who saw himself only in shades of murky gray. 

He remembers every rise and fall of the music, every chord to dozens of songs. Sometimes, when Dallas has a bad night, Malek hums them into the phone, hoping the tinny speaker is enough to shroud the fact that he's put every part of himself into these songs.

When he goes into the forest, they're the first thing he forgets. It's slow at first, he gets turned around by trees that all look the same, but shadows that tap him on the shoulder and then bounce away when he turns around. He hums them to himself then, letting himself have this one thing, just one.

But as the minutes, hours? go by the lilting guitar strings vanish, plucked from his mind like fruit from a tree. He starts to forget other things too. Where he is, who he is, he doesn't, doesn't understand.

The boy in the forest is confused. He sees, what does he see. 

Brown hair.

That's not right. No, it's…

Green.

It was brown but now it's green.

Now it's gray, no that's.

It's green.

The boy in the forest recalls a sound, laughter, yeah, laughter, and laughter recalls-

Nothing. Wait.

Water. Laughter recalls water, why water, no, not water, water, water, wa- waves.

Waves and….

Oh, it hurts, it hurts, the boy in the forest hurts, and he can't understand, where is he, who is he- help.

He's so scared, the boy in the forest is so scared and he can't remember, he only sees waves. Waves, why waves, he's in a forest, why waves.

Freckles like waves, like rolling waves, freckles that shift like the water.

No, that's not right.

Lips, lips and teeth and lips that bleed, no, that's not right!

He tries, he tries, he sees hair, hair that's green. 

Green. Like the trees.

Trees. 

He's in a forest how did he get in the forest, help, please, help, why is he in the forest-

He tries, he only sees green, green like the trees.

There's a boy in the forest.

His missing something, something more, something More, wait, Something More. He's missing Something More, he's missing-

He's missing.

There's a boy in the forest.

He only sees the forest.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: i love malek with my whole heart  
> Also me: *writes this*
> 
> I wanted to write something longer, and I probably will one day, but this is just something I needed to get out. Hope y'all enjoyed it! Find me on tumblr as thegoodthebadandthenerdy and come yell at me about these kids tbh


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